


Changed

by SPNash



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Break Up, Cussing, Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fire, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Kidnapping, Kissing, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Trust, Love, Mental Health Issues, Nudity, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Rape, Romance, Sex, Smut, Stalking, Step-parents, Suffering, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Vandalism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 09:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8321947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPNash/pseuds/SPNash
Summary: Steve Rogers has been delcared KIA (killed in action) while fighting overseas. As his wife, you try to pick the pieces of your shattered life, and move with your daughter to start over. Struggling with PTSD and substance abuse, you meet a local man who  helps put you back together... or so it seemed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a dark story. Please, please, please read the tags before reading if you are worried about triggers. I hope you enjoy! Any and all feedback is welcomed (and appreciated greatly)!

“Any word from Steve yet?” your father’s voice softens.

“Nothing yet, no. You know he couldn’t tell me anything about where they were going but he said they’d be out of range for a few days.”

“Well, it’s been three weeks, honey. Aren’t you worried?” He questions, trying not to sound worried himself.

“If something was wrong, I’d feel it.” You lied. You had felt it. Since the day Steve was deployed, he had always tried his best to give you time frames of when he’d be out of contact. That was the deal you had made when he enlisted. If he was going to leave, he’d at least have to keep you as much in the loop as the Marine Corp would allow. This time something was different, you felt it in your bones.

“Ok, well just let me know when you hear anything,” He pauses, his voice cheering up a bit. “What’s my granddaughter doing?”

“She is napping, finally. This teething situation has messed us both up. She won’t sleep, eat, ugh, it’s a nightmare, dad.”

“This too shall pass, my dear. Next thing you know she’ll be living across the country with a baby of her own, worrying about her husband,” his voice cracking a little. You smile and tell him you love him. You say your goodbyes, and you promise to call with any news.

You peek into the nursery and let out a sigh of relief, Emma was still asleep. You start picking things up, then move to the kitchen to wash a couple bottles left in the sink. You turn off the water and notice the trash can overflowing. Tying up the bag, you stroll casually outside to the perfect day: 75 degrees, warm California sun gently kissing your skin, the heat of which is cut by a soft breeze rustling the trees above your military base home.

You toss the trash into the big can, throwing the hinged lid over it, and head back up the driveway. You barely crack the front door as you hear a car pull up behind you. You turn to see a basic white sedan, seated inside are two men fully suited in dress blues. Your heart sinks…this was it. This is when you find out Steve wasn’t coming home to Emma, wasn’t coming home to you.

“ _We regret to inform you –_ “ The voice starts as you fall in and out of reality. Only catching a few words here and there that the men are telling you.

“— _Staff Sergeant Steve Rogers was killed in action_ –“ Tears fill your eyes. Your head starts spinning. You feel faint. You push back against the slightly opened front door and it slams shut as you slide down it, pulling your knees into your chest and scream incoherently. You hear your daughter’s muffled cries from in the house, awoken from the slamming door, and you stand up to go inside.

“Mrs. Rogers. This is for you,” he hands you a crisp envelope with the United State Marine Corp logo emblazoned in the top left corner, “ _the Secretary extends his deepest sympathy to you and your family in your loss_.”

“He did great things for this country. I am the chaplain and –” the other gentleman tries to offer his condolences, but you stand and turn away from them.

Without a word, you walk inside, loudly slamming the door shut again. The house that had once felt so bright and cheery seemed to be different now. You walk to the nursery and softly pick up your crying 4 month old and sink to the floor again. You pull your daughter in close to your chest and kiss the top of her head, as your tears land softly in her blonde hair, the color just like Steve’s. Her crying slows as you rock her, barely able to catch your own breath in between sobs. You reach into your back pocket where your cell phone was and pull it out.

“Dad” you catch your breath, “I got the news.” He knew instantly what that meant.

* * *

It had been four days since you had received that envelope and you still couldn’t open it. It sat clean, white, and crisp on the coffee table in your living room, a bright reminder of how dark you felt inside. Opening that letter would solidify that this was actually happening. You sat in a black dress, black heels, and sunglasses staring down at it until a knock hits the front door.

“Tony, come in, it’s so good to see you,” The dark scruffed man half smiles as he walks in, wrapping you into a friendly hug.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. Steve, well…” he recomposes himself, “Steve was an excellent soldier and an even better man.” He breaks into tears, “It should’ve been me. I should’ve pulled his ass back in the chopper. It all happened so goddamn fast.”

* * *

The chaplain walks to the front of the headstone:

_“When sorrow comes, as come it must,_

_in God man, must place his trust._

_There is no power of mortal speech_

_The anguish of his soul to reach.”_

“We had just got word that we needed to speed up exfil. We were about to be surrounded. At the last second Novak got hit by a stray in the shoulder. Steve, no hesitation, jumped out to help him. He basically threw the guy into chopper and then…” He pauses.

_“No voice, however, sweet and low,_

_can comfort Him or ease the blow._

_He cannot from his fellow men_

_take strength that will sustain him then.”_

“He got hit. Right in the chest. Fell to his knees looking me in the eye.” The man gasps for breath. He wipes his eyes and continues, “I tried to go get him. I tried, Y/N. I fought so hard and they held me down. He was looking right at me. He grabbed his dog tags and ripped them off. They fell right outside the chopper on the grass.”

_“With all that kindly hands will do,_

_and all that love may offer too,_

_He must believe throughout the test_

_that God has willed it for his best.”_

“Fuck, if they had taken them off a second sooner I wouldn’t have reached them. Barely got my finger in the chain as they pulled up,” he runs his thumb over the silver dog tags in his hand. He lets the tags drop between his fingers as he grasps the chain. He watches them swing and closes his eyes, “All I could think about was you and Emma.”

_“…. No words which we have the power to say can take the sting of grief away.”_

Your father and Tony clutched your hands as the arms were presented. The bagpipes wailed away at the tune of “Taps” and the 7 men stood to volley. One shot, two shots, and the third felt like it struck your heart. You walked away clutching onto the final memory of him, a folded flag.

* * *

“You need some help with those?” A female voice asks from behind the giant moving box in your hands.

“Oh no, I couldn’t ask that,” you say hoping she will ignore your modesty and help anyway.

She grabs the box out of your hand with a smile, “I’m Peggy, and I live next door with my daughter Natasha.” She turns and head inside of your new house. You grab another box from the moving truck and follow her inside.

“I’m Y/N, and that,” you point to the baby sitting up inside a pack and play crib, “is Emma.”

Peggy was in her mid-to-late forties. Her eyes lit up though when she saw your daughter. “My Natasha is almost 25 now, it’s been so long since I’ve held a baby.”

“Go ahead and pick her up. She’s friendly.” You had just met this woman but you already trusted her. She was warm but direct, a straight shooter.

She reaches into the crib and pulls your daughter into her arms. “Oh, she is just precious. Those beautiful blue eyes.”

“Yeah, she got those from her father.” Your face must have saddened because the women immediately apologizes.

“I’m sorry. The realtor is a friend. I heard what happened…It’s a real tragedy. I appreciate his sacrifice,” she places a hand on your shoulder sympathetically but turns her attention back to your daughter, “and now you have a memory of him that will last forever.”

You smile politely but she could tell the words meant nothing to you. She didn’t know how every time you looked at your daughter, you saw Steve. She was his clone, a carbon copy. The blonde hair, the shining blue eyes, and the contagious, dimply smile. She was even getting tall like him, just like him. Watching her grow was like a constant reminder of Steve.

Peggy spent the rest of the day helping you unload, unpack, and clean up your new little house. Her daughter, Natasha, swung by with pizzas and beer after her shift at the hospital. She was a beautiful, red hair with a kickass personality. You were relieved to have finally met someone close to your own age. Steve being high ranking so young meant you were surrounded by women Peggy’s age on base housing. Most of whom you had had nothing in common with.  By the end of the night, it had become evident to you that these women would be a huge part of your new life.

* * *

You had met and married Steve right of high school. You hadn’t even finished college when he proposed and enlisted for the Marines. You had a small, quick wedding three days before he left on his first deployment. You had no job experience and no degree. This new, potential, job you happened on at ‘Barnes’s Antiques’ was by chance, when you had missed your turn driving the moving truck through town. You noticed the “Now Hiring” sign and made a mental note to check it out. The day after you finished unpacking you pushed through the glass doors, sounding bells above you.

You glanced around at the glass cases filled with brooches, ivory pens, rings, as a deep voice asks “Hey, looking for anything particular?”

You look up and lock eyes with the most entrancing blue eyes you’d ever seen. You break eye contact and turn to point at the sign in the window, fumbling over your words.

“I was actually here to apply,” you manage as you try your best not to sound nervous… but he was gorgeous and it had been a long time since you’d talked to man you didn’t know.

He laughs, “Wow. That sign has been up for like two years.”

“Oh, so it’s old. I’ll just go then.” You turn to leave, but a hand reaches out and grabs your elbow.

“It doesn’t mean we aren’t hiring. It means nobody wants to work in a boring ass place like this.” He moves his hand down to shake yours, a wide smile on his face. “I’m Bucky Barnes. When can you start?”

You had been working at the store for a month now. Bucky turned out to be an awesome boss. He was extremely flexible on hours; it was difficult to find someone to watch Emma when Peggy and Natasha were busy but most of the time it worked out. He spent his time in the back restoring some old furniture pieces. You’d pop back to bring him a cold water or just to interact when it got lonely up front. You would sit next by him watching him hammer and sand, watching his shoulder muscles flex though his cotton t-shirt. He was a very attractive man but you knew you were not ready to get involved with anyone, not yet.

* * *

Bucky would go get lunch and sit in the front office to eat with you on most days. You guys talked about anything and everything. You told him about Steve, and Emma, your family. He told you how his family had owned that shop for 100 years, how he never wanted to do anything different, and about his car that he loved “more than anything in the world”, a black 69’ Ford Mustang. He was easy to talk to and he actually listened, as proven by the time he brought you a mustard packet for your tuna salad sandwich.

Everything was going great at work until today, when you had decided to ask Bucky about his love life.

“You know, you’ve never mentioned a girlfriend. I never thought to ask what your relationship status was,” you look to him.

He chuckles, “I am absolutely single.”

“Like you’ve never dated anyone single or single for the time being?” You joked.

“Well, this is a small town. I’ve probably met or dated every woman remotely close in age to me. I’ve kinda given up. Why you interested?” He flashed you a wink that made your heart skip a beat. If you were being honest with yourself you would’ve answered ‘yes’.  

You let out a shy giggle, when a thought pops into your head, “Wait. Have you met Natasha?”

He cast his eyes sideways as he tries to recall the name, “Not that I know of, who is she?”

“She’s my neighbor. Quickly becoming my best friend. She’s gorgeous. She’s a nurse over at Mercy. I have a picture of her,” you pull out your iPhone and pull up the Facebook app and show him a picture of you and Natasha at the corner bar.

“Holy shit. That’s your neighbor? Set me up,” He grabs your phone and snaps a selfie, and sends it off. “My hot boss wants to meet you.” You grab your phone and laugh before rolling your eyes.

Trust me, she’s already heard of you, you muse.

* * *

Bucky and Natasha went out on their first date five days after that text was sent. They had been together for 6 months now. They seemed really happy and you were happy for them most of the time. You couldn’t help but have a pang of envy hit you when they’d kiss. The holidays were nearing and loneliness was finally catching up with you, settling deep in your heart. You moped around the store as you thought about your first Christmas married to Steve. He used all of his Marine signing bonus to buy you a top of the line sewing machine. You’d loved sewing so much then. You made everything you wore and he would point it out to everyone.

“Look at what my wife made. She made this dress. She made my shirt. Yeah, my wife.”  He was sure you’d became a designer one day.

Bucky was tinkering away on some table he was giving Natasha for Christmas when your phone rang. The caller ID was the old military base. You answer quickly, “Hello?!”

“Y/N?” a familiar voice asks.


End file.
